Baron took the letter inside the tomb and read it aloud. After finishing, he tilted his head toward his father’s plaque. “I wish you were here.”
If Baron were any real use as a Caster, he would be.
Shaking off the dark thoughts, Baron returned his eyes to the parchment. Her Highness confused him more than Huxley did. The steward was a villain, but of the type Baron was accustomedto dealing with; he’d simply never had one living in his home, wielding power over him daily.
Aria was a mystery, the likes of which he’d never encountered before.
Why did a princess apologize as if her very existence was a bother to him? He would have been more comfortable had she demanded information rather than requesting it politely. And she remembered the names of his brothers, asked after them with pursued interest. If she’d desired only to be polite, she would have asked after their well-beings, not their hobbies.
I find myself in need of good conversation.
How could a crown princess be lacking in anything, the least of which conversation? Yet Baron felt an echo of the sentiment in his own soul. And something else ...
It breaks my heart, she wrote.
It was not the first time Baron had mentioned his early age of branding to someone, but it was the first time he’d been answered with compassion.It breaks my heart.
He was rubbing his witch’s mark. He curled his fingers in, then folded the letter. With quick strides, he returned to the manor, joining Corvin and looming over Huxley to remind the man he’d not been forced out yet. The minutes seemed a continuous torture until, at last, night fell, duties ended, and he could craft a reply.
Your Highness, Aria,
To your questions—
Managing an entire crowd would be unreasonable for a single Stone Caster. In theory, it’s possible, but the Caster would need skin-to-skin contact with each person in order to lay the Cast. They could delay the activation to trigger sleep for all at once, but the mental strain for the Caster would be immense, likely rendering them unconscious. It may even fracture the Caster’s mind.
Such a thing might be possible with an Artifact—which you asked after. Many Casters like the idea of Artifacts, because if a Cast is anchored to one, it removes the burden from the Caster and greatly increases the strength of the Cast, creating feats otherwise impossible.
Truth, but misleading.
First, because the process of creating an Artifact is complex. You cannot take an item at random; the object must be tied to the emotions and purpose of the Cast.
Second, because not just any Cast may be anchored. The process of anchoring expands potential power but also introduces limits. Every anchored Cast must be constrained within a time period that, like the Artifact itself, is relevant to the Caster’s purpose.
Third, because of the inherent danger. Destroying an Artifact doesn’t destroy the anchored Cast, but rather the opposite—while the Artifact exists, the Cast is easy to remove, but once destroyed, the magic grows wild, spiking in unintended ways and becoming stronger, often rebounding on the one who Cast it.
I have experimented with Artifacts and found them disappointing. Perhaps it’s the swordsman in me, but I prefer to lean on my own strength to accomplish things. Discipline and practice make for better aids than any exterior crutch.
Big words for the failed Caster. Not that an Artifact could have saved his father, but Baron’s supposed strength had done no better. He shook his head, then returned to writing.
Corvin has always been interested in birds. Father nearly had a heart attack the first time we found the boy in the rafters of the stable—a toddler perched among the larks. Even now, I can’t prevent Corvin from climbing rafters and rooftops. Leon tried once to follow but grew paralyzed by the height. I count myself luckyfor that—I can only imagine the chaos if they were to hold their arguments in tree branches.
And finally, my witch’s mark.
It’s a rather long story. I wonder if I might tell it in person sometime?
Sincerely, etc., Baron
P.S. Without fail, I would be embarrassingly unseated in the first pass of any joust.
The following morning, Corvin delivered the letter and returned with a new one in hand.
Thus began the tumbling slope.
Dinner at the Reeves estate had quickly grown to be the most stressful event of the day. Keeping Leon from claws was difficult enough, but Huxley had claws of his own.
It was at dinner that the steward announced, “It’s time to discuss schooling. Most children of court start attending at fourteen, and the process isn’t a quick one, so we’re behind in preparation.”
Leon stiffened in his chair, eyes fixed on his plate. Baron clenched his jaw but said nothing, waiting to hear the direction Huxley intended to take.
